


Florida Sunrise

by Profoundly_Poetic (LinguistLove_24)



Category: Golden Girls
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Female Homosexuality, Female-Centric, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Implied Sexual Content, Older Characters, POV First Person, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 20:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/Profoundly_Poetic
Summary: Blanche tells Dorothy that she loves her.





	Florida Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> So I love the girls and have for yearsss but never managed to write fics for the show. I've recently been trying super hard to get back into writing, and after watching almost to the end of season four, this little piece is what came out.
> 
> *Cue shock, gasp, horror* I've not seen every episode in chronological order but I'm working on that, so please do be nice and try not to eat me alive. I never saw these two ladies as a couple before, but after reading some other writers' amazing femslash for them, I kinda dig it. This is my first little foray into the fandom and I decided to make it F/F. I do hope to write more if y'all don't hate it. *Covers eyes and runs away.*
> 
> Enjoy! x

**Florida Sunrise  
  
**

“I see you half awake over there, missus, don't kid yourself.”  
  
Blanche winks at me, playing tongue through teeth, signature southern drawl considerably muted and coated with the thick of sleep.

I feel a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of my mouth in spite of myself and wonder how long she's known that I'm actually awake; whether she's given me a few quiet moments to drink in the sight of her on purpose.  
  
Regardless, she's a sight to behold. Propped up by several pillows leaning against the mahogany wood of the headboard, expertly balancing a plate and tucking the tines of her fork meticulously (seductively? She seems to do everything that way) into a thick slab of cheesecake and bringing it slowly to her lips. She's afforded slight modesty courtesy of a satin sheet, but it's only resting just above her navel. I remember then, assaulted again by the perfection of her skin and the fullness of her breasts, the euphoria of the night before.  
  
“It's four thirty in the morning,” I guffaw, my eyebrow raising involuntarily. “What're you doing eating cheesecake?”

“Wouldn't be the first time,” Blanche retorts laughingly. “Besides, I worked up an appetite.”  
  
“Are you forgetting it was me you were working on?” I say sarcastically, eyes twinkling, and she wordlessly offers me a forkful.  
  
“Here, open your mouth,” she demands when I fail to take the utensil from her.

The confection fills my mouth and I close my eyes, savouring its sweetness. Images of the woman I love – never thought I _would_ find myself loving - and whom I could definitely never fathom loving me in return, swam in my head as faint traces of perfume still clinging to her skin hung in the air:  
  
All the nights we'd stayed up together, working through problems and comforting one another only to retreat to separate bedrooms. I wonder now if she'd thought of me alone in hers as much as I thought of her – longed for her – alone in mine. All the stories of her sexcapades with men I found myself involuntarily jealous of, my sarcastic quips a way of disguising and dealing with my feelings.  
  
“Dorothy, did you hear me?”  
  
“Hmmm?” I swallow, though the sugary treat has long melted on my tongue, slid easily down my throat. The blue eyes of my lover are fixated on my brown ones when I open them. They are full of emotion, vulnerability, and a depth I'm certain most people rarely bear witness to.  
  
She places the plate gingerly down on the mattress next to a satin covered thigh, unblinking, still focused on my face.  
  
“What, honey?” I coax softly when she still doesn't speak. “What is it?”  
  
“I said...” she fumbles, clearing a frog in her throat. “I said that I love you.”  
  
The wind has been knocked out of me. I am robbed of my ability to breathe, but in the way one is when they finally meet their newborn child after countless hours of labour. Entirely different from and unlike the time I fell off my bicycle onto a cold, hard slab of pavement as a kid in Brooklyn.  
  
I am okay, in this second, with the restrictions to my airway and the feeling of a heart that doesn't entirely fit inside my chest.

“Really?” I say, incredulous. “So it wasn't just something you said in the heat of a moment last night?”

“You heard that?” Blanche asks me, blushing, seemingly embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“No, no. Don't be sorry at all.” I wave the notion away with the sweep of my hand. “You don't have to apologise. I've wanted to say that to you for a long time.”

“Then why haven't you?” she asks me. “I mean, I know you _have,_ but not in the way that I mean it now.”

“Fear,” I tell her without hesitation. Some still plagues me.  
  
“Of what?” She cocks her head to one side the way she tends to when she's intrigued or confused by something and sidles closer, clasps my hand as if urging me to bare my soul to her, tell me that I'm safe in doing so.  
  
“You not reciprocating.” I take a deep breath to steady my pounding heart. “You reciprocating and things not working out, our friendship being destroyed. You realising I'm not what you wanted, that I'll never be enough...”  
  
“Now hold on a minute,” Blanche stops me, almost scolding. “Who _ever_ gave you the idea that you wouldn't be more than enough?”  
  
“Oh, come on, Blanche. What happened to _a man's just got so much more to offer _when Jean came to visit and you all found out she was gay?”  
  
“Oh honey,” she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I was only jokin'.”  
  
“But were you _really_?” I say. “You've never been with a woman before.”  
  
  
“Neither have you!”

“Touché.”  
  
“Look, babe,” she sighs, sitting up straighter, running a hand through her auburn hair. “I know there have been men. Many, _many_ men, prior to where we find ourselves right now. I can't change that and I don't necessarily regret all of it.  
  
“I do regret you feeling like you couldn't come talk to me, and I wish you had much sooner. I don't quite know how to make sense of these feelings either, but I do love you.”  
  
“I love _you_,” I answer emphatically. It slips from me effortlessly. A simple phrase I've been holding in for far too long. “I don't want you to have any regrets about last night at all.”  
  
  
“I don't,” she tells me without blinking, and I believe her. “Not one.”

“Did I....” suddenly I am at a loss as to how to phrase my thoughts appropriately.

“Did you.....?” Blanche looks at me expectantly, trying not to laugh. “What?”  
  
  
“Y'know,” I sigh, exasperated, gesticulating open air with my hands. “Make you happy?”  
  
  
“Oh,” she snorts, covering her mouth. “Y'mean, did you fulfill my needs?”

“Yes. Exactly.” I nod. “That's exactly what I meant.”  
  
  
“Dorothy, honey, do you really have to ask me that?” She's trying to hide a smirk, but I can see it tugging slightly at edges of her lips.

“Yes, Blanche, I do. Because I've never done this before, I'm not a man and with your track record I feel like I have a few to compete with.”

“Baby...” her eyes soften, and her voice is almost a coo. Were it anyone else I would find such things grating, sickeningly patronizing, but I'm somehow comforted by it.

_Because it's her._  
  
  
“You don't have to compete with anybody,” she assures me. “And you did make me happy. Very, _very_ happy. Many, _many_ times.”  
  
  
“Swear?” I ask.  
  
“I wouldn't lie to you. Not about that. And not about the fact that I love you. I may have slept with a lot of men in my day, but I ain't loved very many of 'em.”

“I'm honored to be among the few. Promise me something, though?”

“Sure, anything,” Blanche offers. “Name it.”

“If ever there comes a time...” I say slowly. “Where this isn't making you happy anymore, don't string me along so as to protect me. Let me – both of us – down easily as soon as you can so our friendship doesn't have to suffer.”

“Of course,” she says tenderly. “And you. It goes both ways.”

“I promise,” I nod.

She leans in to kiss me. Slowly, deliberately, deeply. All the blood rushes to my head. Our promises are sealed. I want to stay that way forever, but eventually she pulls back and I crave more, feel instantly like some extension of myself is missing.

“Does this make us lesbians?” I question the dark softly, running the pad of my thumb in gentle circles across the back of one of her hands.

“I dunno,” she drawls after a while, no doubt thinking of the fuss she'd made of Jean, the hard time she'd given her brother Clayton when he'd come out to her. I have a feeling the two of them might be talking in the foreseeable future. “I doubt it. Aren't we just humans being guided by our emotions? Doesn't that happen to everybody in some way? Can't we just be two people who support and love each other? Can't that be enough?”

It strikes me then just how long it's been since I've risen early enough to watch a Florida sunrise from the lanai, and I'm certain the company I've been keeping just that slightest bit closer has more than a little bit to do with such renewed desires.

“It's more than enough,” I murmur. “Come watch the sun rise with me? I'll put on some coffee.”

“Only if you follow it up by showerin' with me,” she counters.

“Blanche Deveraux, you are _such_ a slut,” I laugh.  
  
“You love it,” she teases. “Can I take that as a yes, then?”  
  
“I'd love to,” I nod, feeling my skin tingle and heat settle between my thighs at the thought of being in the close quarters of the shower together. “But what if somebody hears us? What if Ma walks in?”  
  
“We're gonna have to tell them eventually, aren't we? I don't plan on lettin' you go or gettin' me any other girlfriend anytime soon.”  
  
  
_Girlfriend. She called you her _**_girlfriend._**

The little voice in my head is taunting me, but for once I'm not trying to quash or escape it.  
  
“Well, yes,” I reason, coming to. “But I'd like to keep this between us for just a little while longer. It's kind of nice, nobody else being in on it.”

“Then I'll just have to be quiet, won't I?” Throwing the sheet off her body, Blanche scoots to the edge of the mattress on her side of the bed and stands, giving me a full view of her impressive backside.

I can't help but think the little bounce in her step and sway of her hips as she sashays into the opposite direction are intentional.

“Honey, don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't think you and quiet go together.....


End file.
